


Haunted

by Writers_Glitch



Series: Tales of MorrisSmith [3]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Nea is moral support, Nea isn't the killer, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quentin loves a ghost, death mention, ghost frank, ghost/human relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writers_Glitch/pseuds/Writers_Glitch
Summary: As the wrath of Freddy Kruger dims down to soft talk and very little mentions, Quentin Smith decided to start fresh in the new town of Evergarden, mere hours away from Springwood. Buying a beautiful, old fashioned house at the end of a looping street, Quentin settles in rather quickly.Soon, Quentin realizes that he isn't the only one new to his new home.





	Haunted

Setting the last piece of furniture and decor into place, Quentin wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he looked around. After hours of unpacking and decorating his house to what he saw fit, he exhaled deeply and retrieved a glass of water to drink. Cupping the glass to his lips, the cool refreshment parched his dry throat. Wiping his dirtied hands on a fresh hot rag, a yawn escaped the man's lips as he stretched his arms behind his back. A phone chimed sweetly as it began to ring, Quentin picking up the small device and pressing the bright green button to answer as he put it to his ear as he spoke, "Hello?"

"Hey, Quentin! It's Nea! You doing alright? I don't need to beat anyone up, now do I?" Nea; a very close friend of Quentin's—she had been helping him cope after the haunting events in Springwood. Quentin couldn't help but smile as he expressed his gratitude to the female. Wandering his new home, his fingers danced along the patterned wallpaper as he continued around his the many rooms. "Can you believe how cheap this house was? Honestly, this seems more like a million dollar home than for how much I paid for it on such a short notice. You think it's too good to be true?" He asks as Nea gives a second to think before responding, "After everything you've been through, it seems more like a blessing than too good to be true, you know?"

Walking into his room, a tense atmosphere suddenly settled over him—something was _wrong_. Nea, still on the line with the dreamwalker, seemed to waver at his sudden silence. "Quentin?" Her soft voice on the line made him blink back from his trance like state. "Huh? Oh, sorry about that Nea. Something just feels a little.... _off_ about this particular room. I'm going to put my phone down and I'll leave you on speaker, okay?" Quentin tapped the speaker button and set is phone down on the nightstand, cautiously walking around the master bedroom. Checking the bathroom and the large closet, he found nothing out of the ordinary and nothing out of place. Standing in front of the bathroom, he turned the faucet on and splashed water on his face. Was he losing himself? Was it just his paranoia? 

Lifting his head from the water, he turned the faucet off and wiped his face with a hand. Breathing caught his ears as he stiffened, goosebumps decorating his arms as he began to quake. Looking into his reflection, he suppresses a scream as a figure looks back at him that is _definitely_ not his reflection. The figure, clad in a Letterman's jacket soaked in blood and gore, stared intently into Quentin's graying eyes from over the dreamwalker's shoulder. 

For some reason, the anxiety and fear bubbling in his throat spilled from his lips. 

Screaming bloody murder, he turned around sharply to find no person behind him, but instead be met with cold air and a whisper of dread. A concerned robotic voice called from the master bedroom as Quentin huddled in on himself, salty tears streaming down his scarred face. Retreating into the old fashioned tub, his face buried itself in his knees as he rocked back and forth in fear. Not too far away, the ghostly figure watched in confusion as he eyeballed the male—had he really made him lose himself that quickly? Moving quietly, the man's phone chimed as he looked over at the device—his wallpaper seemed to be one of himself and a female, probably the one he was talking to moments before he made his presence known. 

Not too long after, Frank would see the woman rush into the home in search of her friend. 

Finding the young man curled in the bathtub made Nea's heart ache—he had already been in so much shit with Kruger that he didn't need this mess to start up now. Coaxing the dreamwalker from the tub took a lot of patience for Nea as he finally climbed out of the porcelain tub, finally laying in bed as tired eyes began to flutter closed. "Please.....don't leave," He mutters, fear evident in his voice as Nea sighs. "I'll be here when you wake up. Go to sleep."

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

It all started again with very little things. 

It had been quiet in the house for a whole month after the outburst due to the strange experience with the alleged ghost and Quentin. Though, it took that time to realize that the once scary ghost was actually helping him instead of scaring him. Everytime he would swear he lost something, it would turn up out of the blue when he needed it. When Quentin finally caught on, he had tried to test his theory of if the ghost had actually been helping him find his lost items. 

Leaving his keys on the bed, he pretended to walk out and almost forget his keys. "I thought I left them on the counter?" He muttered to himself, lookin around the living room to faintly hear the jingle of his keys in the kitchen. Turning back sharply, the figure stood straight like a deer in headlights as they caught each other's eyes. "So you _have_ been helping me?" The figure said nothing, stuck in the same position it had been for the past couple of seconds. "Are you doing this because of that thing that happened a month ago?" At that mention, he received a nod. 

It was all silent as Quentin tried making conversation, the figure finally moving from its spot in the kitchen to the couch. "What's your name?" He asked suddenly, not even registering what he had asked until last minute. "Frank, Frank Morrison," It's— _his_ voice spoke as he looked away, visual burn marks on his skin along with tattoos littering his neck. Getting a good looks at him, he looked just around Quentin's age—had he died so young? 

After introducing each other, talking didn't seem so bad. 

Though it was awkward having a ghost roaming his halls, it didn't seem to bother him as much as he thought. On occasion, a friendly spook would make Quentin laugh and not break into a fit of fear as it used to, friendly debates were held in the kitchen or the living room as Frank grew comfortable with his presence. Even though he was a manifested ghost, he acted like any other boy his age—sports, talking about cheesy about ladies, that whole thing. He had gotten so comfortable that he didn't mind Nea seeing him out and about around the house. After being friends for what seemed like months (which was more like two weeks), Quentin decided to ask the single question he had to know. 

"How did you die, Frank?"

Of course, Frank tensed—it was the topic he knew would come up sooner or later, he had even planned out a little speech to explain his situation. "This is hallow ground, to say the least—I once lived in a home on this property, grew up in a foster family with a very nice foster father and a cute foster sister. One night, extremely early in the morning, it got extremely hot in my room for some reason. I thought it was just the covers at first, so I pushed the blankets away. When I felt a searing pain in my leg, I screamed in pain as my leg began to burn black. As I tried to escape the room, the roof began to cave and I knew I wasn't going to make it. The last thing I saw was my foster family running our safe and sound and feeling myself get crushed," He explains, sadness evident in his eyes as his frame flickers and the lights dim just a touch. 

"Well, if it helps any, I was tortured for the longest in the safest place you think you could be—dreams," Shivering at the thought of Freddy Kruger, he went on. "He tortured me, cut me up, made my life a living hell and gave me the marks on my face. The doctor said I was lucky to keep my eyes. I moved here to get away." As the atmosphere drowned in remorse and sorrow, Frank flicked the TV to sports as Quentin laughed. "Why sports of all things right now, Frank?" The ghost boy gave a snarky smile, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. "I'm a jock! _Duh_ ," He chuckles, smiling as he lay his head in Quentin's lap. 

"I can't believe I'm in love with a ghost."

"I can't believe I'm in love with a human while I'm a ghost."


End file.
